


Flights of

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diggle has a fantasy that keeps him company sometimes. Oliver on his knees, Oliver putting that mouth to better use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flights of

Diggle has a fantasy that keeps him company sometimes. When Oliver gets stubborn, gets so mouthy John wants to brain the kid, he reflects on one or two choice scenes. Oliver on his knees, Oliver with his nose against John's junk, Oliver putting that mouth to better use. 

It starts differently, depending on the day and his mood. Sometimes while they're sparring, or if he's angry, if Oliver's gone particularly icy, it's just John forcing him to the ground wherever they are.

Sparring. Oliver bleeding heat and sweat, all pliant with exercise like he goes and probably grinning. John would unbalance him, hook him with a pipe, a tonfa, and pull his face up to his zipper. Grind into him, egg him on. _What are you waiting for, rich boy?_

A hallway in the manor, wood-brown and potted plant-green in his peripheral vision, half-blinded by sunlight and Oliver's fingers on his belt, breath on his cock. 

But his favorite is at night, back during his first bodyguard days, when Oliver Queen was a dumb kid with a lucky throwing arm. John never stayed during the night, not while his job was sleeping and his own bed beckoned, but he had his own kinks. Moving up a prone body, slices of blue light through the blinds like a blanket over them. Narrow green eyes assessing, playboy smile, long fingers wagging. Hot mouth and tongue and beard scratching his balls, swaying in and out, wet muscle expanding around him. 

Kid would be good. Kid would be real good.

When pipe strikes John's throat, Oliver's is working around him. When Oliver fights a deviation, a contribution, John's groaning, holding that blonde head to his groin. This is his fantasy; he doesn't see anything coming of it.

-

When Oliver goes stiff and quiet, John's arm is dropping around his shoulders. When he lurches awake in the base, bright-eyed and flinching, John's got him cornered in the diner and talking. These are his hopes; he doesn't see anything coming of them. 


End file.
